


Fall to Your Knees and Shatter into Something New

by treeofworlds



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: eh i guess it could be construed as pre-relationship?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 14:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4023361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treeofworlds/pseuds/treeofworlds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck doesn't understand until after Operation Pitfall, until Stacker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall to Your Knees and Shatter into Something New

**Author's Note:**

> I've got unexpected inspiration for somehting angsty and hopeful, this is usually Caitlin's gig. For real, though, I've watched Pacific Rim three times this week and had my heart ripped out and stomped on too many times to count, so I figured I'd inflict some of that on other people.

Chuck doesn't understand until Stacker, until Operation Pitfall. (He was Pentecost before, but how can you call a man by his surname when he's been in your head?)

With his dad hurt, Chuck can't pilot with him. So Stacker gets into the conn pod with him, brings nothing but steel and silence and rigid control, and they fit together just fine, though the drift is never going to be as strong as it is with Herc. Chuck has sort of resigned himself to dying, and is doing his best to hide his fear from the Marshall, and it is at this moment he sees the structure of a plan in his mind. The marshall ejects his pod, and detonates Striker, and Chuck feels him incinerated, torn away, and he gets it.

Becket isn't a coward, or a has-been, or any of the numerous, stinging insults Chuck has slung his way. He didn't run because he was scared.

He ran because it hurts.

God, does it hurt. Chuck feels like a piece of his brain has been removed, and the space throbs with wrongness and emptiness and hurt, and all this after just one drift with Stacker? Raleigh drifted with his brother for years, they must have ghost drifted all the goddamned time, must have constantly been in each other's heads, the way his dad and he are. To have something like that, a bond that strong, for so long, and then have it ripped away while you feel everything your co-pilot does as they die?

Torture. 

He gets it now. Raleigh isn't weak. The mere fact that he's still alive, still breathing and moving and living is amazing. Most pilots who lose a drift partner feel the loss so keenly that they can't cope. Most of them don't last very long.

Chuck feels a burning need to apologise. Except he can't quite get out of his own head enough, even with the rotors of the chopper whipping up a frenzy, and the shouts of personnel who were sent to retrieve the three pods from the middle of the Pacific. Mako and Raleigh are tucked up together, so close they might as well be one person, and Chuck can't get past the gaping hole in his psyche, where Stacker should be, where his dad ought to be, where the ghost of their drift ought to be feeding him thoughts and feelings.

He shivers. Then he realises he can't quite stop. Mako doesn't need to nudge Raleigh, either he's feeling her worry or his own, but two pairs of eyes look at him forlornly, and while Mako didn't lose anyone like Raleigh did, she saw his memories; they're hers now, so she understands well enough. They stand up simultaneously, wobbling their way over to him, and press in tight by his sides, Mako resting her head on his shoulder, and slipping a hand into his, and Raleigh slinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into his broad chest. Ordinarily Chuck would protest, he's never exactly been tactile, but he feels like he might just shake apart if something, someone doesn't hold his jagged edges in place.

He doesn't speak, none of them do, and when they land back at the 'dome, Herc greets them. Chuck can't make his legs work well enough to stumble towards his dad and wrap his arms around him, but Mako and Raleigh guide him over and hold him up as Herc pulls all three of them into an embrace.

“I'm so glad you made it home, Chuck.” It's the most emotion the old man has shown in years, tears shining in his eyes, lip shaking, arms locked around the three younger pilots. “You as well, Mako, Raleigh.”

“He's in shock.” Raleigh doesn't beat around the bush. “Losing a co-pilot mid-drift like that, it's rough. He needs to rest, recover.”

Chuck just shakes, elbows pressed against two sets of ribs. Mako smooths a tender hand over his shoulder, and he leans into the touch almost involuntarily. Raleigh's hand is warm against his back, even through the drive suit. Herc gives a terse nod.

“Whose room is closest?”

Mako frowns.

“Mine or Raleigh's. Why?” Herc looks at the three of them, at Chuck's unrelenting grip on them both.

“There's no way he's going to let either of you leave him, not today.” Herc sounds almost sad, though Raleigh can't tell if it's because Chuck isn't clinging to him or that his son needs to cling at all.

“We'll stay with him.” Raleigh reassures the new Marshall. They lead Chuck gently towards the bunks, and by chance, end up in Raleigh's. Mako eases the stunned Australian onto the bed, and sits as close as she can get to him while Raleigh strips out of his drive suit. Mako lets Chuck lean into Raleigh, and goes to do the same, swiping one of Raleigh's big lumpy sweaters. Between the two of them, they manage to get Chuck out of his own drive suit, and into the sweater Raleigh had been wearing before they were deployed.

Raleigh gets Chuck to lie down, and lays himself down flush to his back, wrapping an arm around his waist. Mako snuggles down against Chuck's chest, and once she dozes off against him, breathing hot puffs of air into his neck, he seems to relax a little.

“We used to do this as kids.” He murmurs. It's the first time he's spoken since he woke up in his escape pod, unexpectedly alive and floating on the current.  
“I know. Mako misses it.” Raleigh's voice is a comforting rumble against Chuck's back, and he closes his eyes.

“Does it ever stop hurting?” Chuck's voice breaks mid sentence. Raleigh smooths a hand over Mako's arm as she snuffles, makes a hurt noise in her sleep, and Chuck takes a careful breath.

“Not really.” His voice is thick with old pain, and Chuck has to struggle not to turn and...do something, say something to help. “But it gets easier.”

“I'm sorry.” Chuck feels a tear roll down his face, soaking into the blankets they couldn't be bothered to use.

“I know, Chuck.” Raleigh hushes him and suddenly Chuck can't take it.

“No, no it isn't. I said you were a coward and a has-been and I didn't get it before and I do now and I wish I didn't!” Chuck dissolves into sobs, and Mako stirs and presses forward as Raleigh does the same.

Chuck cries for a long time, and the only reason he stops is because he's pretty sure he's dehydrated. He dozes off a little while later, twitching in his sleep, and Raleigh laces his fingers with Mako's, and doesn't say anything at all, because she already knows it.

They'll help Chuck put himself back together.

And maybe, Raleigh will find a way to do that for himself, too.


End file.
